Shawl haul: Kalabandar's treasures

I am powerless over textiles, especially wearable ones.

Thanks to my friend "diverchic" who forwarded her invitation, I visited the local show of textile importers Jeffrey Hess and Jan Becker of Kalabandar. Their downtown Victorian home overflowed with scarves and shawls from their annual four-month travels through India, Thailand and Laos.

Somehow, three hours flew by. I was as intrigued by their stories and deep knowledge as by their wares. The dashing Jeff and willowy Jan met eight years ago in a textile shop in Jaipur; how perfect is that? They now commission pieces, choosing colours and styles, and buy from artisans who have developed signature techniques.

They showed me ikats, unusual silk weaves, jacquards and Muga wild silk till my textile-loving heart beat like a hummingbird's wing. After long deliberation, I chose three handwoven shawls: an Ajrak traditional rust, cream and blue woodblock print, a silver/black silk Thai ikat, and a textured wool/silk in blues and deep greens. At the last minute, I added a silk/cotton summery stripe to the stack and willed myself to stop right now.

I'm wearing the Ajrak in my current blog photo and at left; the stripe is below, worn pallu style.

Prices range for about $30 to several hundred dollars, with many superb pieces in the $60-$90 range. And one does not 'outgrow' a shawl!

While I chose, women arrived with gowns, their mother's requests, and memories of last year's finds. Everyone tells you what looks best; I enjoy that communal atmosphere.

Jan has an eye for the subtleties of colour and proportion; she's a professional photographer. Jeff, an historian and collector, re-folded countless pieces while recalling their provenance.

They host spring and fall shows in Toronto for the public each year; the next will be in November. To receive a notice, contact Kalabandar100 (at) hotmail (dot) com. They also sell at Harbourfront's outdoor summer marketplace and in Blue Banana in Kensington Market, but you won't find the most refined pieces there.

Shopping in their home is the next best thing to tucking into weaver's stall in Kashmir or trawling a Thai market- with the advantage of good-natured counsel.

I wrenched myself away before jeopardizing the right to even read frugality blogs, and walked around the corner to a favourite Vietnamese restaurant, Pho 88, for a late lunch.

As I passed the sidewalk browsers trying on fake Vuitton hats, buying crates of Pakistani mangoes, reading Chinese newspapers, I was once again grateful for the diversity of my city.